Captive

In the controlled chaos that was Sickbay in an emergency, Dr. McCoy and his staff moved in complicated choreography around the new patient.

"Full life support unit. We've got to take the strain off of her heart and lungs."
"Get some transdermal infusors set up. The usual humanoid fluids."
"Resetting hyperencephaloscanner for all coordinates deep scan..."
"Get a sterifield generator over that leg and a prophylactic full spectrum anti-microbial. Keep an eye open for anaphylaxis."
"Can you move down a bit? I can't get a good retina scan through your head! "

The life support unit took over complete cardiac and pulmonary function. Shock and dehydration were being treated with the appropriate solutions. The internal bleeding was being brought under control with one of the hemostasis agents. There was a sufficient stock of antigenically neutral synthocytes available to bulk up blood supply until the correct cell type could be synthesised. McCoy hardly knew what to treat first. The woman had been in Sickbay for 10 minutes.

He turned away to study the holographic resonance image solidifying to one side of the diagnostic bed. There were blood clots in the brain, spinal column, and lungs. "Superimpose neurological scan" he instructed the computer. One of the senior surgeons came up behind him.

"What a mess!" it said, pointing an appendage at the complicated image.

"Could be worse" McCoy replied. "The brain and spinal cord are grossly functional. We can't wait for the fine function results. Let's deal with the skull fractures and clots first."

It is said that news, alias gossip, travels through a starship at warp 20 or more. It's probably true. Such a vessel is a closed system most of the time, and the usual laws of the universe need not apply. By the time Captain Kirk reached the main rec area, nearly everyone in the place was discussing the ill-fated smugglers and their "cargo". Various embellishments had already been added. He noted that none of the stories were as horrific as the truth.

Coffee wasn't going to be enough this time, and Kirk opted for some comfort food. As he brought his snack to a table and sat down, he tried to refocus his mind on their original mission. It didn't work. One part of his mind was astonished at how cruel beings can be to each other, while another part tried to tell him he's been around enough not to be so shocked. No one ever said this universe was fair.

He sensed Spock's presence at the table and looked up. "Status report, Mr. Spock" inviting the first officer to sit.

Mr. Spock noted the remains of the captain's silverfruit tart. He had observed on numerous occasions that the emotional state of his human shipmates was frequently identifiable by the food they chose to eat. He surmised Captain Kirk was somewhat agitated and unfocussed but not unduly so. "We will enter the Beta Casarii system in 46.3 standard hours. Personnel lists for each of the landing parties and their itineraries have been compiled subject to your final approval." Here he handed over a microdisk. "Urgent and routine requests for transfer, with relevant personnel files." Another slim rectangle.

Kirk thought wryly "Doesn't anyone ever want to stay on this ship?" knowing just exactly how many people were on the waiting list to join the crew of the Enterprise.

Spock put several more microdisks on the table, each with an appropriate comment. The captain was grateful for what his first officer was trying to do. The routine of the ship was always Kirk's best tranquilliser (barring the occasional visit to Wrigley's pleasure planet). One final disk joined the others.

"The information you requested on Federation policy and rehabilitation options, Captain."

"Thank you Mr. Spock." He sighed ever so slightly. "Any news from Sickbay?", although he knew they would keep him informed.

"Negative, Jim. Perhaps in this instance no news is truly good news" Spock replied.

James Kirk looked up at Spock. That wasn't really the sort of comment he'd routinely expect from the seemingly cold, dispassionate Vulcan. As usual Spock's face was neutral. A touch too neutral, maybe. The captain palmed the stack of microdisks and rose. Mr. Spock stood as well. Kirk rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. There was no pressing need for him to return to the bridge just yet."I'll be in my quarters if anything develops" he said.

"Acknowledged, Captain." Spock returned to the bridge. There were still some analyses on the debris from the shattered runabout to be completed. The computer was also engaged in an identity search for the woman, using the retina scan and other parameters Dr. McCoy had provided.

Even narrowing the search to Terran type humanoids still left many billions of registered identities to be sifted through. That was assuming she had been born on one of the planets in the Federation. If not, then records from those non-aligned planets that had submitted them to the Federation database would need to be scanned. That was also assuming the birth had been registered in the first place. Although registration was required by Federation law, some of the "backwater" planets and colonies were not always thorough in enforcing said law. It appeared as though the woman had been a captive slave for some time, judging by the appearance of the oldest marks on her arms. It was entirely possible that no legal "paperwork" existed in her name. Although he would never have admitted it to anyone (including himself) Spock was bothered by the idea that she could die nameless.

One by one the crowd around the patient diminished. She was hardly visible, surrounded by regen units, infusors, antigravs to prevent bedsores, and the extra monitors needed to handle the data that threatened to overload the diagnostic bed. McCoy wasn't altogether certain by this time that he knew what some of the hardware on and around the bed was actually for. As long as someone on the staff did, he was satisfied.

He was exhausted. They all were.They'd been working flat out for a long time. The woman was still alive. The life support unit had now been set to assist, triggering to full support in the event of systemic failure.

McCoy left word with the captain that things were finished for the moment. Nursing staff coming in were briefed on the followup care by outgoing staff. He was coding and dictating preliminary reports when Kirk entered the office, carrying a flask and two glasses. The doctor had just enough energy to summon up a bit of a smile.

"What's this, Jim? I'm the one who's supposed to do the prescribing around here! You got a medical degree I don't know about?" he drawled.

Kirk brandished the flask. "Strictly over the counter stuff, Bones." He filled the glasses and handed one to McCoy.

McCoy sniffed suspiciously at the golden, opalescent liquid. "Over the counter in which galaxy?" he retorted, sipping cautiously. "Nice though. What in blazes is it?!" Now he was appreciative and curious. "Never seen anything like it. Mmm. Never tasted anything like it either." His features began to relax a bit.

The captain raised his glass in a mock toast to his chief surgeon and good friend. "It's called traal sima'. Translates as cloud of stars. It comes from Sigma Masarine II." He drank slowly in obvious enjoyment. It wasn't very often that he could surprise McCoy with a new variety of alcoholic entertainment.

McCoy set down his glass to yawn, stretch, and rub his eyes. "Didn't know we had trade relations with anyone in that neighbourhood." he replied in his best country doctor accent.

Kirk looked up from his glass with a bit of mischief in his tired eyes. "We don't." he deadpanned.

The doctor was sure there was a story in there somewhere, but he was too tired to try.

"How is she ,Bones?" Kirk asked, getting serious again.

"Still with us, and I'm still damned if I know why! 'S got nothing to do with anything we've done. D'you want to know the whole list?" His drawl began to disappear as he recited. "I'll start from the top and work my way down, shall I?" He started ticking the items off on his fingers: "Depressed parietal skull fracture, two broken cervical vertebrae,broken and bruised ribs, blood clots in the skull and lungs, internal injuries, compound fracture of the right femur and evidence of severe sexual abuse. Not to mention all the visible slashes and bruises, chronic malnutrition and outright starvation. She hasn't had any food or water for several days." The doctor moved farther forward in his chair. "We're not even finished with her yet. She's too weak for any more surgery. Jim...nearly every bone in her body seems to have been broken at one time or another. Other old injuries have never been treated properly. Someone's given her a thorough going over, and I don't mean medically!" He collapsed back into the chair and sought refuge in his glass.

Mutely Kirk handed him the bottle. There wasn't anything he could say to make Bones feel better. Without understanding all of the medical terminology precisely, the caaptain could still appreciate the severity of the woman's condition. McCoy's eyes were hot blue with rage.

The surgeon took the flask and poured himself a little more of the honey thick liquor. They both sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally McCoy stood up, moving stiffly in his exhaustion."Come and have a look. I want to check a couple of things before I turn in." Kirk nodded and rose to follow the doctor. He was a bit squeamish about these sort of things, but felt he had a duty as Captain.

Christine Chapel was at the bedside using a portable groomer to trim, clean, and comb the patient's hair. "Captain, Doctor" she nodded greeting without pausing in her work.

"You are supposed to be off duty" McCoy admonished his chief nurse.

"Yes, doctor" she replied, not looking up.

McCoy shrugged and gave the captain one of those "What am I supposed to do with insolent staff anyway?" looks. He moved closer to his patient, instantly and completely absorbed in the various readouts of her condition. Kirk also approached.

The woman had been cleaned up of course and was clad in a surgical tunic. From that point of view she looked a lot better than when he'd seen her last, on the transporter platform. Had it only been hours ago? The amount of hardware around the bed bothered him. Too many flashing lights, complicated displays, and quiet but insistent noises. He backed off unconsciously. The movement attracted McCoy's attention.

"It'd be worse if none of that", pointing to the displays "was lit up and beeping." he said, leaving Kirk to digest the full import of that pronouncement. "Any luck on identification for her? I'm just about ready to give her a name myself."

The captain shook his head. "Even if Spock gave the search top computer priority, it could still take a few days. There are a lot of people in this galaxy. What's next, Bones?" he asked.

"If she survives the next few days, we go ahead with the rest of the work. Her face needs reconstruction, the old injuries done up properly. Everything set right again. And removing those blasted marks!" He paused, his anger renewing itself briefly. "She's too unconscious to get accurate readings on complete brain function. I can't tell yet what sort of condition she'll end up in."

Kirk looked puzzled. What do you mean by too unconscious, Bones? I thought either you were or you weren't." he wondered. He moved completely away from the bed. He'd had enough.

McCoy also came away from the bed, having noted all the relevant information. His medical instincts told him he couldn't do much more for the woman at the moment, but his conscience had needed convincing. "That's what most people think, but it's not so simple. Even in some types of deep coma, a patient is stil capable of receiving and reacting to stimuli. Touching them or shouting in their ear will evoke a measurable signal from the brain. In her case she's still too far gone for that. Back in the old days, she would have been declared brain dead, and pulled off of life support. It just wasn't possible back then to measure the more subtle activity of the brain. We can. The instruments" gesturing at the array around the bed "tell me she's alive because her brain is still doing something. What I can't measure yet is exactly how well. A superbly talented and trained telepath could probably pick up a personality trace." He shook his head slightly as Kirk looked at him questioningly. "Sorry Jim. Spock couldn't do it. He's not a full telepath. Anyway I wouldn't ask." He shrugged. "Well, she's stable at the moment. All we can do is wait." He sighed in frustration.

Kirk could see Bones mentally willing his patient to live, and recover. He sometimes wondered if McCoy , and all healers regardless of species, as a group really were telepathic or empathic. "How did the doctor ever cope with death?" He knew that McCoy often contemplated the captain's reaction to death. But James Kirk had not entered Starfleet with the specific intent to prevent sickness, suffering, and death. McCoy's entire training and personality were bound up to that end. The gruffness (some would say sheer cussedness) and the alcohol were means of coping, no matter how inadequate they were sometimes.

Ms. Chapel was still attending to the woman. She'd finished with the groomer. Now she'd brought some mouth moisturisers to relieve the dryness caused by the earlier dehydration. The woman couldn't swallow, so the moisturising gel dots had to substitute for a drink. Fluids and nutrients were still being infused, paced with the patient's metabolic rate. Chapel checked the position and condition of the sanitary unit. Overall the nurse tried to make the unconscious woman as comfortable as possible.

Dr. McCoy gave another monumental yawn, triggering a response in kind from Kirk. The night relief nurse looked at them both with amusement. His own species did not express fatigue in quite that manner. Captain Kirk gave McCoy a pat on the shoulder and told him to get some rest. Kirk left Sickbay to follow his own orders.

McCoy faced the bed again and stood silently for a few moments. Chapel had finished her ministrations and joined him. "Chris...you off to bed ?" he asked.

She replied "Soon. Why, Len?"

His eyes lost their exhausted look. "I want to set up for a dermoplasty. If she has to die, I'll be damned if it's going to be with those slave marks on her arm!" They assembled the necessary equipment and began the work in silence.

chapter 4